The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress (3 page)

Ethan was not convinced. It wasn’t dismissal he’d felt coming from her. It had been a powerful bolt of passion aimed directly at him. It was still hitting him. His whole body was energised by it. His eyes derided her evasion of the truth as he attacked her reading of his character.

‘You can stick me with ego and arrogance as much as you like, but there’s more going on in your head than you’re telling me, and it has nothing to do with Lynda Twiggley’s instructions.’

‘What I think is my business,’ she whipped back.

‘Not when it involves me.’

Impasse.

She glared at him, the wheels of her mind going round and round in a fierce search for an exit line he might accept.

He wanted to drag her into his embrace and kiss her until all her resistance melted. Never had he been so aroused by a woman. For the first time in his life he was in total tune with the cavemen of old who simply hauled off the
object of their desire and took their pleasure at will. Was it her hostility that excited him? Had he grown too bored with women who were only too eager in their compliance?

Intensity
…the word leapt into his mind. That was what had been lacking in all his other connections with women. Daisy Donahue was transmitting it, hitting the same chord in him. Normally he channelled it into his work. It wasn’t a social asset. Intensity disturbed people. Too dark, Mickey said. But there was a dark side to Daisy Donahue, too, setting off a weird wave of exhilaration through his bloodstream. And a compulsion to explore it.

She dragged in a deep breath and tore her gaze from his, dropping it pointedly to the hand still grasping her arm. He softened his grip, rubbing his thumb along the underside of her wrist, finding the beat of her pulse, exulting in its rapid drumming.

She was excited, too.

Or was it fear?

‘I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr Cartwright,’ she said in a stilted little voice. Her beautifully feminine breasts lifted as she filled her lungs again. Her eyes met his in a plea that held a vulnerability he hadn’t seen before in her. ‘Please let me go.’

It made him feel like a cad for holding her against her will, yet he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. ‘You said we have nothing in common. I think we do, Daisy Donahue.’

She shook her head, agitation flickering into definite fear as she was distracted by something behind him.

‘Ah, Dee-Dee,’ came the smarmy voice of Lynda Twiggley who was obviously about to insinuate herself into the situation.

‘Miss Twiggley,’ she said in a shaky subservient tone as the woman stepped forward to part them.

It enfuriated Ethan that Daisy should feel it necessary to kowtow to her snaky employer. She was a natural-born fighter. It was wrong for her to be in this position.

‘Catering needs a prompt to get the coffee moving.’

It was a dismissive command.

Daisy tried to pull her arm free, anxious to avoid any more displeasure being heaped on her head.

Ethan tightened his grip, determined on keeping her with him.

‘Daisy has already done that,’ he coldly told the Twiggley who turned an ingratiating smile to him.

‘Then she can do it again,’ was the unbending reply.

Unreasonable, demanding bitch!

Ethan lost his cool. ‘Miss Twiggley…’ grated out from between gnashing teeth.

She fluttered her exquisitely painted fingernails and her false eyelashes at him. ‘Oh, do make it Lynda, please…’

It revolted him. Words shot out of his mouth in a stream of searing contempt without any thought to their consequences.

‘I think it’s time you stopped treating your PA like a slave who doesn’t warrant any consideration or courtesy.’

Her
mouth gaped open in shock.

He felt a shudder run up Daisy’s arm.

The ensuing silence was impregnated with the hairprickling sense that a bomb had just gone off. Ethan revelled in its intensity. He was so off his coolly analytical brain—no number-crunching going on at all—he was actually looking forward to the fall-out.

D
AISY’S
mind was reeling. Her heart was galloping faster than any racehorse. Any second now her boss was going to throw a major tantrum and she’d bear the brunt of it. Ethan Cartwright was too important a person to cop the whiplash from his strike on her behalf.

Why had he done it?

Why, why, why…?

Even if he’d meant well, he should have known it would rebound on her. He just hadn’t cared. It wasn’t going to affect his life. He was an untouchable. Anger at not getting his own way with her had spilled over onto Lynda Twiggley. Never mind that Daisy was the one who would pay for it—the selfish, arrogant pig! She’d explained the situation to him, begged him to let her go, and what he’d done was put her job at risk—the job she had to keep or see her parents’ home go down the bankruptcy drain.

Panic ripped through her stomach as her boss started puffing herself up to let fly her ferocious temper. Mean blue eyes cut her to ribbons. The attack had the cyclonic force of a fireball.

‘How dare you complain about how I treat you, you ungrateful little cow!’

‘I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!’ Daisy babbled.

‘I speak from my own observation,’ Ethan Cartwright sliced in.

It didn’t improve the situation. It made it a thousand times worse. Being subjected to such personal criticism from him was so offensive, Lynda turned to him in a towering rage, probably thinking her bid to have him fix her financial affairs had been sabotaged and Daisy knew she was going to be blamed for it, regardless of anything Ethan Cartwright said.

‘I pay her very well to do what I tell her. There’s nothing slavish about that, I assure you,’ she hissed at him, steam pouring from her.

‘I take exception to you telling her to stay away from me,’ he shot back. ‘That’s not work. It’s—’

Lynda exploded into a tirade at Daisy, cutting Ethan Cartwright off in mid-speech. ‘You stupid, stupid girl! Have you no sense of discretion, no brain in your head? Might I remind you that you signed a confidentiality clause in your contract with me. Which you’ve just broken in the worst possible way with your stupid, wagging tongue.’

She
had
committed the indiscretion.

It was impossible to defend herself.

What could she say…that Ethan Cartwright’s persistence had goaded her into it? No way would that be an acceptable excuse. She had not put her boss’s interests first. The chaotic effect he had on her had overwhelmed her usual grasp of what was permissible.

Daisy stood in appalled silence, quaking inside as the storm broke over her, her heart sinking as she realised there was no hope of this being forgiven or forgotten.

The inevitable lightning struck.

‘You’re fired! As of now!’

She felt the blood draining from her face.

The thunder rolled on. ‘And don’t come back to the office. I’ll have your personal things parcelled up and sent home. Untrustworthy blabbermouth!’

Lynda Twiggley’s last look of furious disgust barely penetrated the dizziness flooding through Daisy’s head. Like some fade-out on a television screen, the back of her ex-employer disintegrated into dots.

Ethan caught her as she started to fall, scooping her into a tight embrace. It was where he’d wanted Daisy Donahue but not limp and unconscious. He had to get her firing on all cylinders again. With a quick stoop to hook an arm under her knees, he lifted her off her feet, cradling her across his chest.

A chair was needed—set her down, lower her head to get some blood back in it, a glass of water…that was what common sense said, yet as he started carrying her towards one, he was riven by the strong temptation to keep right on going, out of the marquee, into a limousine and off to his cave. He’d caught his woman. She felt good in his arms. He wanted her out of this jungle of people and completely to himself.

Problem was she’d probably come to before he got her to the limousine. How long did a faint last? And she’d undoubtedly throw a scene at the hotel before he could take her to his suite.

No, it was a mad idea.

A sheikh might get away with it.

Or a buccaneer of old who was captain of his own ship.

Not Ethan Cartwright in this modern world of political
correctness.
He
would have to answer for his actions.

Nevertheless, he was almost at the exit to the marquee when Mickey caught up with him. ‘Hey, Ethan. You doing a runner with the girl?’

It stopped him. He turned to his friend whose face was alight with fascinated curiosity. ‘She fainted. I have to get her to a chair.’

‘You’ve passed a whole bunch of them.’

‘Distracted,’ Ethan muttered. He hadn’t been aware of anything except the woman in his arms—the feelings she generated in him.

‘Over here,’ Mickey directed, steering him towards one as Daisy stirred in his arms, her lovely full breasts swelling against the wall of his chest as she gulped in air.

Ethan told himself his brain needed a blast of oxygen, too. As much as he wanted to hang onto Daisy Donahue she was going to rip into him the moment she had regained her wits. He’d be enemy number one for causing her to lose her job, regardless of whether or not it had been a good position for a person like her to have. And freeing her from it so she could be with him was not an argument she was about to appreciate. Somehow he would have to make her see him as her saviour instead of the black dog of disaster.

Daisy struggled to regain her strength and her wits. Never in her whole life had she fainted and to have Ethan Cartwright take advantage of this momentary weakness, manhandling her even more than before, was the absolute pits. At least she wasn’t being carried by him any more. He’d put her on a chair and was sitting
beside her. Despite the fact that he’d shoved her head down to her knees, it was still swimming, and he had his arm around her in support, which she probably needed, though she hated needing anything from him. He’d just destroyed the lifeline to keeping her parents in their home.

‘Fetch her a glass of water, will you, Mickey?’

His voice upset her even further, loaded with concern.
After
the event. No concern when it really mattered.

‘Sure. And here’s her hat. It dropped off on the way.’

Total indignity on top of everything else!

By the time the glass of water came, she was steady enough to lift her head and sip it. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered to the man who’d brought it—Mickey Bourke, another A-list bachelor with no worries about where his next dollar was coming from.

‘I’ll look after her now,’ Ethan Cartwright said, dismissing his friend.

‘Right!’ Mickey Bourke grinned at him. ‘Nothing like seizing the day! Go for it, man!’

Seizing the day? The phrase scraped over all the jagged edges in Daisy’s mind. Her day, her job, a secure future for her parents had all been wrecked by Ethan Cartwright going for what he wanted. She felt like throwing the glass of water in his face, sober up some of the blind ego that had completely overlooked what he’d been doing to her. But what good would that achieve?

Despair squeezed her heart.

‘Are you feeling better, Daisy?’ he asked caringly.

Nothing could make her feel better. ‘Well enough for you to remove your arm,’ she answered tersely, sitting
up straight and stiffening her shoulders to show him his support was no longer needed. Or welcome.

‘Okay, but you should keep sitting for a while. Maybe you should eat something. Did you have any lunch?’

No, she hadn’t, which might have contributed to her fainting, although she was used to running on empty in this job. Except she didn’t have a job any more. Which was all
his fault
.

She turned to face him, anger spurting off her tongue. ‘It’s a bit late to start caring about me, Mr Cartwright. The damage is done.’

He grimaced, but there was no regret in the green eyes boring into hers. ‘Lynda Twiggley was doing you a damage, making you bow to her tyranny.’

‘I could manage that. If you hadn’t interfered, I’d still have my job.’

‘You didn’t like it,’ he said with certainty.

‘What’s
like
got to do with it?’ she cried in exasperation. ‘It was the best paid job I’ve ever had and I need the money. You have no idea how much I need it. You’ve probably never known a moment’s worry over money in your entire life.’

His mouth tilted into an ironic smile. ‘Actually I carry the burden of worrying about money all the time.’

‘Big money!’ she corrected savagely. ‘Not lifedestroying lack of income.’

He frowned. ‘Surely it’s not that bad!’

‘It most certainly is!’ She quickly sipped some more water. The vehement bursts of emotion were making her feel light-headed again. Or maybe it was him sitting so close to her, exerting his mega-male attraction. A woman could drown in those green eyes.

‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d be better off in another job,’ he said with the first hint of apology.

‘You didn’t think at all,’ she muttered furiously. ‘Not on my level.’

‘What do you mean…your level?’

She lashed him with grim realities. ‘The level where people struggle to make ends meet. Where the job market is getting tighter every day. Where being out of work can bring everything crashing down.’

‘Are you in debt?’ he asked, his eyes seriously probing hers, making her heart jiggle with the wish he really did care. This was a man who could turn everything around for her parents if he wanted to. And he had a physical magnetism that was getting to her again.

‘No. Yes.’ She heaved a desolate sigh. ‘My parents are. And if I don’t pay the interest to the bank, they’ll lose their home. They can’t do it. It’s up to me.’

‘Well, there’s a twist,’ he dryly commented. ‘I thought the Y generation lived off their parents, not the other way around.’

He wasn’t interested. She’d been stupid to entertain the wild thought, even for a second, that such a highflyer would come to the rescue of ordinary people.

‘You live on a different planet, Ethan Cartwright,’ she retorted bitterly.

‘I believe in people being responsible for themselves. If your parents incurred a debt, it’s up to them to—’

‘You don’t know anything,’ she snapped. ‘Sometimes people can’t manage for themselves.’

‘Okay. Tell me the circumstances,’ he invited.

‘As if you care!’ Her eyes savaged him for his irresponsibility. ‘You didn’t care about the consequences to me when you ignored my plea to let me go. You
didn’t care about offending my boss so deeply I didn’t have a chance of hanging onto my job. And just how do you think I’m going to get another highly paid position without a glowing reference from Lynda Twiggley? I’m dead in the water.’

She banged her glass down on the floor, stood up, and snatched her hat from his hands. ‘Goodbye, Mr Cartwright. I can’t say it was pleasure meeting you.’

‘Wait!’

He was on his feet so fast and blocking the direct route to the exit of the marquee, Daisy had no choice but to halt and face him again. She lifted a belligerent chin as she demanded, ‘What for?’

Ethan didn’t have a ready answer. He was acting purely on the need to keep Daisy Donahue in his life. She was magnificent—cheeks flaring with colour again, big brown eyes flashing a fierce challenge at him, her petite figure powering up to fight him. He remembered how her soft, feminine curves had felt when he had been carrying her. Add the vitality of the passion he felt coming from her now…the thought of having all that locked in his arms sent fiery tingles to his groin.

An answer came to him.

He’d created the situation which was driving her away from him.

He had to reverse it.

‘I’ll give you a job,’ he said.

Her eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed with suspicion. ‘What as? Your cleaning lady?’

There was a huge appeal in that image—Daisy on her hands and knees, scrubbing his floors, her perky bottom swaying with the action. But he knew he was
dead if he suggested it. His mind whizzed to other possibilities. He didn’t need a PA. His business was fully staffed. No room for her there. So what could he offer that she wouldn’t turn down flat?

‘You need a lifeline, right?’ he said, hedging for time to come up with an acceptable rescue package. ‘A stopgap until you can find a job that suits you?’

‘If I have to clean floors, I will, but they won’t be yours,’ she vowed rebelliously, one hip jutting out as she stuck a hand on it, emphasising the fascinating smallness of her waist. ‘You are the last person I want to do anything for right now.’

Ethan smothered a sigh. Feudal lord and serving girl was not an appealing picture to her. Although if he wrapped it up in gold paper…

‘How about executive housekeeper? I’ve recently bought a property I’ve started on renovating. You could oversee the tradesmen’s work, ensure that everything’s kept in order. I’ll pay you the same salary you earned with Lynda Twiggley.’

The fight in her eyes wavered into a sea of vulnerable uncertainty—the need for no break in her money chain warring with a mountain of doubts about what she might be getting into by putting herself in his power. Her throat moved convulsively. She was swallowing hard. And blinking hard.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked huskily.

‘Yes. I’m sorry for causing you so much distress,’ he said quietly, realising she was desperately trying to stem a gush of tears. ‘The least I can do is tide you over until you find better ground for yourself.’

She bit her lips. Her eyelashes swept down. She lowered her head. Her hand dropped from her hip and
fretted at the pill-box hat she was holding in her other hand. ‘It might be months before I can find another job,’ she mumbled anxiously.

‘I expect the renovations will go on for months. It’s a messy business. It will be good to have someone on site, checking up on everything. Even the most reputable builders need a critical eye on them to get it all right and clean up after themselves. In effect, you’d be my PA for a special project. Okay?’

The eyelashes slowly fluttered up again. He had the weird sense of his heart turning over as she looked earnestly at him. ‘You’re really serious about this? You’ll pay me as much as Lynda Twiggley did?’